


Oh Captain, My Captain

by lostwithoutablogger



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-13 21:16:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 7,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7986505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostwithoutablogger/pseuds/lostwithoutablogger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in an alternate dimension where Sherlock is a pirate (because "initially he wanted to be a pirate") and John is still in the army. John finds himself captured aboard a mysterious ship, with an even more mysterious Captain.</p><p>-PART 1 OF THE ALTERNATE ENDING IS UP- PART 2 COMING SOON-</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Capture

Okay, so before the story, I have to give a bit of background info.

My pen name is lostwithoutablogger and I'm a random with a passion for writing. I found this picture on deviant art a while ago and it immediately captured my interest:

http://jlazuline.deviantart.com/art/Pirate-and-Army-Doctor-324874220?q=gallery%3AJLazuline%2F31964901&qo=10 

A comment below suggested that somebody should write a fan fic to go with the picture, and, as I had two hours on a crowded bus to endure later that day, I decided to give it a go. (The picture done by JLazuline on DeviantArt)

This work was originally published on the fanfic.net website, but I've now switched to AO3. This was my first attempt at fanfic, but by no means my first attempt at writing. I'd love to know what people think, so please review. Constructive criticism is always welcome, and so are suggestions.

So, without further ado. Chapter 1: Capture.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Captain John Hamish Watson, army doctor and soldier, surveyed the island before him. Rarely had he been deployed to a place of such extraordinary beauty. He was used to grey and bloody battlefields, not green islands with turquoise waters and towering cliffs.

His regiment had been deployed a little under a week ago to the island, under orders of the government, and, in typical British government style, had been told nothing of use about their mission. All they had been told is that there was something, (or someone) of national importance upon the island and they must find it. And that was it. They stayed here until they found what they were looking for, or died of boredom apparently.

John sighed. In the time they had been here they had done nothing more than bumbling around tripping over tree branches, and in the case of some unfortunate new recruits, cliffs. If it was in fact a person they were looking for, they would have heard them a mile off. "We need a plan" he muttered. "We need a plan, and a map".

He walked back to the row of tents, informed his second in command of his intentions and hiked up the steep ascent behind the camp. Perhaps if he could survey the island from a place of height, he would have a better chance of creating a decent map, and getting them off this blasted island once and for all.

Some minutes later he left the hot sun and entered the cool green shade of the island's forest. As he walked he could not help but feel that he was being trailed. Little signs alerted him at first, the snapping of twigs and the swaying of branches even with the absence of wind. But gradually he began to think that he could see shadows darting around the trees. Shaking his head, he put it down to and tiredness. He'd taken the late sentry shift the previous night, and as a result, had gotten little, to no sleep. He walked on.

Suddenly, a flash of movement in his peripheral vision caused him to turn. A sharp blow caught him in the back of the head, and he fell senseless to the ground.


	2. The Pirate

CHAPTER 2- The pirate

John awoke to the sound of loud voices. "He looks a bit like one of those spikey 'fings doesn't he? All curled up like that" said a rough voice above him, "a wassname, a hedgehog". This clever remark was met with a cacophony of laughter and similar taunts.  
John kept still. Better that they thought he was unconscious so he could work out where the hell he was.

He could feel the strong heat of the sun on his face and the weight of a blindfold on his eyes. A brisk breeze was blowing, bringing with it the smell of the ocean. He concentrated on where he was lying, feeling the hardness of flat wooden boards beneath him and curved ones behind him. For some reason he felt as though wherever he was, was moving.

He was racking his brain to come up with an explanation when he felt a swift kick to his ribs. He tensed as the pain hit, but kept still, willing his hands not to move as fought against the instinct to protect himself. "Wow he really is out of it, isn't he?" a rumbling voice said. "Why don't we just toss 'im overboard for a bit, see if he stays asleep when the sharks start nibbling at his toes!". This suggestion was met with general approval and John was about to "wake up" out of sheer panic, when  
a clear voice cut through the rabble.

"What the hell is going on here? Get away from that prisoner! Anderson, I want this deck so clean I could walk on it! Wiggins get your sorry behind down to the cabin and begin plotting a course to our new.." he hesitated "destination" he finished. "The rest of you, be off, I'm sure you all have something to do. And let me tell you, if I ever see such negligence again, or hear you threatening my prisoners one more time, I will have you strung up and whipped like the cowards you are!"

John listened to all of this with considerable confusion. Deck? Cabin? Strung up and whipped? Where the hell was he? He hear the click of shoes or boots close to his head, and a drawling voice whispered in his ear: "Nice sleeping princess. You had my  
men fooled, but then, that's hardly an achievement.

It takes a little more than closedeyes and a still body to pretend you are unconscious. You need to breathe longer and softer, and try not to think about anything, such as wondering where you are, in order to relax your brow. Yes, I saw that furrow  
between your eyes" he added as John started. "I have to say though," the voice continued "I was impressed with your lack of movement when that dolt of a Wiggins kicked you. That took quite a bit of self control".

"I expect you're wondering where you are ay Captain?" he said, mentioning John's rank for the first time, and putting a strange, almost scornful emphasis upon it. Resigning himself to admitting he was awake, and conceding he could better escape if he  
knew where he was, John nodded curtly once.

He felt strong hands lifting him into a seating position, something he was unable to do, given the ropes that bound his hands and ankles, and he was lifted with apparent ease onto a solid surface. The same hands worked at the knot on the blindfold and  
within moments John was blinking owlishly in the bright sunlight. For a moment everything was blurred as his eyes adjusted, then it all snapped into focus. "Oh my god" John murmured. Standing over him on the deck of what he now realised was a ship,  
was a pirate.

"Oh my god" John repeated.

"Not quite"said the pirate whom he now recognised as the voice which had been talking.

The pirate was tall and lean and had messy dark hair curled close to his head. His cheekbones were high and sharp and his eyes were a undefinable colour somewhere between green and blue. And what he was wearing… It was the stuff of fairy tales and mediocre  
Disney films.

He wore a billowing white shirt and grey vest, with a scarlet sash tied loosely across his hips. He work tight fitting black pants tucked into high black-laced boots. A pair of gloves in an identical shade encased his hands. Over all this he wore a dark  
blue coat with the collar turned up. To complete the bizarre, if strangely attractive ensemble, he wore a black hat with a feathered plume.

"Captain John Watson I believe" he said in the same drawling voice he'd used before. "what an honour this is. The name's Sherlock Holmes. Captain Sherlock Holmes.


	3. Do you know who I am?

Sherlock's POV

Captain Sherlock Holmes surveyed his prisoner. He noted the creases in his khaki uniform suggesting that he'd either not slept the previous night, or that he'd slept in his uniform. When he glanced at Watson's eyes he was inclined to believe the former,  
as two faint purple shadows were visible there.

Watson was tanned and muscled, a tribute to the active life he led. His sandy blond hair, slightly visible under his helmet was cropped short. Under the shirt of his uniform he wore a close-fitting black t-shirt, which emphasized the flat hard muscles  
of his wore a chain around his neck.

If Captain Holmes was the sort of man to notice such things (and he was), he would have thought him quite attractive.

John's POV

John sat motionless as the Captain raked his face with searching eyes. He had no idea what he should do. He was on a boatkilometres from land and surrounded by water. His training had taught him what to do if he was captured, but the rules did not  
mention, however, what one should do if they found themselves captured aboard a bloody pirate ship!

Finally the Captain spoke. "Why are you here" he asked, lifting a booted foot to rest on the crate next to John.

"I'm on holiday" John replied coolly.

"An amusing reply, but one that hardly guarantees your safety. I'll ask again. Why are you here?

John remained silent.

"Do you know who I am Captain Watson?" asked Holmes, saying the word "captain" as he had before.

"I have no idea" John replied.

"Well, I imagine you heard about the ship that managed to get itself wrecked off the coast of Dover? When the authorities found it, everyone inside had been robbed of all their valuables and the cargo of gold the ship was carrying had mysteriously disappeared.  
Care to take a guess at who was behind that? And that cruise ship that was waylaid in the evening by a group of masked sword wielding thieves?

Holmes lifted his hand and grazed his fingers lightly along John's jaw, then brought his hand back to rest on the blue-hilted sword that hung by his hip and smiled charmingly. "That might have been me too".

"Wiggins!" he yelled suddenly, slamming his foot back onto the deck. A scruffy looking young man appeared. "Captain Watson will be dining with me tonight. See that everything is prepared."

Holmes sighed. "and untie him please Wiggins, and tell Anderson, yes Anderson, I can recognise his clumsy knot tying a mile off" he said as the young man shifted guiltily, "tell Anderson that the next time he feels the urge to tie something up, and does  
so this crudely, he'll be mending nets for a fortnight."

Holmes turned away, then turned back sharply and said "I would advise you not to attempt to escape Captain Watson. We are five miles from the mainland and though I do not doubt you are an excellent swimming, I think you would find the sharks to be unpleasant  
companions." And with a wink, he sauntered off.


	4. 23 months

John sat still asWiggins untied him. Holmes had read his mind, and now, deterred from his only escape plan, he had no choice but to remain on board. He sighed quietly. Sooner or later he would be found, and in the meantime… Spending the evening  
with the Captain sounded pretty awful (as he considered the man to be an arrogant git), but as his stomach protested from lack of food he figured there could be no harm in it.

Wiggins finally undid the last knot in the ropes binding him and John stood up and stretched with a feeling of relief. Exactly how long he'd been unconscious he wasn't sure, but judging by the angle of the setting sun, it couldn't have been more than  
a few hours. Be that as it may, he was sore, and his back cracked painfully as he moved.

"If you'd like to follow me sir" Wiggins said politely.

John glared at him, recognizing his voice as the one which had compared himto a hedgehog and suggested throwing him overboard.

Wiggins winced and gestured haltingly in the direction of the stairs that led to the lower deck and the door that was located there.

John nodded and in typical military habit that was hard to break, marched off towards it.

The door swung open slowly and John entered cautiously. The room inside was dark except for the light of a few electric lamps illuminating the table at which the Captain sat. Captain Holmes was sat back in his chair. His gaze was fixed ahead but his mind  
was obviously far away. His elbows were rested on the carved wooden arms of the chair in which he sat, and his hands were held almost as if he were at prayer, his fingertips pressed together.

He did not move as John entered the room, no as he took his seat and poured himself a goblet of water. Only when John had been present some minutes did he stir from his thoughts and address him.

"My dear Captain Watson" he said, in that cool clear voice of his. "Please help yourself to some supper. It's not exactly restaurant quality, but I'm sure after" he looked at John carefully "two days of army rations, it is a welcome change".

John furrowed his brow. "How did you…?"

"How did I know? Quite simply I observed by the marks on your neck that you were usually clean-shaven and remained so when not on duty. The two days worth of stubble on your face made it quite a simple deduction." He finished.

John shook his head in unwilling amazement as he helped himself to meat, prompting a smile from the Captain.

It was some minutes before Holmes spoke again. He waited patiently for John to finish his meal , before saying: "Now, Captain Watson. I asked you before why you were here. I already have my suspicions, but I would like to have them confirmed".

John thought for a moment. He could see no harm in telling the Captain. It was not as though he knew anything of importance. "We were sent here to search for something, or someone" he said. 'We weren't told what, and we definitely weren't told why. All  
we know is what we are searching for is of "national importance"" John quoted.

He saw Holmes' eyes widen as he spoke those last two words. The Captain then jumped up and surprised John with a chuckle of laughter. He grabbed a sheaf of paper which was pinned to the wall with a jackknife. Leafing through it, the Captain laughed again.  
"23 months" he muttered "Mycroft's getting slow!"


	5. A thousand stars above him

SHERLOCK'S POV

Captain Holmes sat in the quiet of his cabin later that ngiht, mulling over Watson's revelation. So Mycroft had found him. It had taken him long enough. But in truth he was surprised he had succeeded at all. He been so careful to cover his tracks.

But then, Mycroft had always been the smart one. He had no trouble admitting that now, much as he would be loath to say it aloud. Two years at sea gives one some thinking time. And now… what would he do? And especially what would he do with Watson. He could hardly release him.

He leaned back in his chair and gazed out the small porthole above his bed. The moon had risen, bathing the ocean in a cloak of gossamer threads. Standing abruptly he opened the door and stepped out onto the lower deck. The ship had anchored for the night and was silent, save only for the gentle lapping of water at her sides. The crew was asleep and if someone had come aboard that night they would have thought the ship was empty.

Holmes walked across to the far end of the ship, where the cells were. Not underestimating Captain Watson's skill and not doubting that, given the opportunity he would escape in a heartbeat, he had ordered him to be locked up for the night.

Unlocking the door silently he glanced inside. A shaft of moonlight fell through the open door illuminating Watson. He lay with his back to the door and his shirt off on the hard wooden bench inside the cell. The moonlight caressed his face, giving his features a silver glow. His face was softer in sleep, Holmes noted. His jaw was not clenched and his brow was smooth.

Holmes smiled, "Goodnight my captain" he said softly, and, moving quietly he stepped out of the cell, bolting the door silently behind him.

JOHN'S POV

John awoke in the dead of the night, at that time when the world seems to be holding his breath, to strains of violin music coming from Holmes' cabin. He pushed himself up into a seating position on the bench, wincing in pain as his sore muscles protested. Standing up he peered out the small barred window in the door of his cell.

The light in Holmes' cabin was lit, and through the frosted glass of the door, John could see his silhouette as he played. The music was brisk and military, but every so often a delicate trill was played, tempering the harshness of the ordered notes.

Captain Holmes appeared to be composing, as every few moments he would cease playing, then start up again with a new line added, or an arpeggio modified.

John stood transfixed in the moonlight, with a thousand stars above him, and listened to the music pouring from the cabin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings,
> 
> Thanks for the comments I've gotten so far. If you haven't commented yet, please do!   
> Just so you all know, the song Sherlock was composing may or may not have been inspired by John's arrival ("brisk and military"). I'll leave you to your deductions on this one guys ;-)   
> x lostwithoutablogger


	6. Red sky in the morning...

When John woke next, the sun was rising over the ocean, turning the clouds in the sky a brilliant crimson. John smiled as he thought of the old rhyme he'd chanted as a kid:

"Red sky in the night, sailors delight

Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning"

He shivered at the thought of enduring a storm aboard the ship, sturdy as it seemed.

The boat was travelling at a fast clip and the crew was already awake it seemed. The smell of frying sausages wafted from the kitchen. John stood up stiffly and stretched and, hearing the clink of keys at the lock of the door, stood back to allow the  
door to open.

"Mornin' your Captainship, I come bearing a morning repast " said a mocking voice at the door. A man entered carrying a tray. From the voices he had heard the previous day John gathered that this man was Anderson, the man Holmes had berated yesterday  
for his poor knot tying skills. Fighting the urge to punch the man in the jaw (his wrists still ached from the ropes), hesettled for scowling. A rude hand gesture followed as Anderson's back was turned. But as Anderson locked the door behind  
him, he turned his attention to the food.

Truth be told he was surprised by the quantity. "Let it not be said that pirates are a stingy bunch" he thought. A plateful of sausages lay on the tray with a hunk of bread and cheese. Beside that, lay an apple and a pitcher of water. The food occupied  
John for a short time, but then it was finished, and he was back to being bored as hell.

The rest of the day passed slowly. He saw neither hide nor hair of the Captain, the only time he was spoken to at all, was when Anderson brought him lunch.

After lunch he was amusing himself by staring out the window of his celland identifying the cook, the cartographer and the first mate, when a distant rumble of thunder made him pause.

Throughout the day, the clouds overhead had grown steadily larger and darker. The colour of the ocean had changed from lapis lazuli to steel. The wind had picked up, and with it, the waves. The sails billowed out and the ship moved at an ever-faster pace.  
Another rumble of thunder sounded, this one not quite so distant.

John peered out the window to see Holmes fling open the door of his cabin and walk out onto the deck, issuing orders at a breakneck speed. "Wiggins tell Hudson that I want everything that isn't nailed down on the ship to be put away. I'd like to avoid  
being brained by a flying saucepan if at all possible. Then, get up to the crows nest, I want to know exactly how long we have until that storm hits. We're going to have to try to outrun it.

John listened to this with a growing sense of dread. Being stuck on a wooden boat in the middle of nowhere was bad enough, but being stuck on a wooden boat in the middle of nowhere with a storm coming was his idea of hell.

He sat on the wooden bench in his cell and watched as the sky darkened slowly and the waves jolting the boat grew in size.


	7. For every cloud engenders not a storm..

"Bursts as a wave that from the clouds impends, And swell'd with tempests on the ship descends; White are the decks with foam; the winds aloud Howl o'er the masts, and sing through every shroud: Pale, trembling, tir'd, the sailors freeze with fears; And instant death on every wave appears." – Homer

SHERLOCK'S POV

Holmes stood at the ship's helm and gazed out at the churning water. Rain had started falling heavily and bullet-sized drops lashed the deck. He'd swapped his beloved coat for a similar waterproof one. The collar was still turned up, but only to keep  
off the rain of course.

The storm was almost directly overhead by now, and visible flashes of lightening now accompanied the cracks of thunder. Holmes was not troubled, his crew had weathered many a storm and, while this was worse than most of them, he had full confidence in  
his men.

Lightning split the sky in two, illuminating for a moment the churning waves below, and the cabin in the far corner of the ship. Holmes cursed, he'd forgotton about Watson. "Bloody hell" he muttered.

Cursing repeatedly under his breath, he called for his first mate- Wiggins, and instructed him to take charge of steering. He paused at his cabin to scoop up a handful of blankets and a handheld lamp, and, unlocking the door of the cell, stepped inside.

Watson sat on the ground in the corner of his cell with his arms resting on his knees and his head bowed. He did not glance up as Holmes entered, nor as the dim light of the lantern illuminated the room.

"Are you well Captain?" Holmes asked, genuine concern in his voice. Watson drew a shaky, shallow breath.

"No" he replied. A roar of thunder so deep it made the cabin tremble echoed in the sky. Holmes saw Watson's whole body tighten. A rush of understanding passed over him.

He asked softly, one word: "Why?" Watson raised his head, and Holmes saw how truly frightened he was.

"You know why" he said hoarsely.

They sat in silence for some time. Then Watson spoke again, his voice barely louder than a whisper. "I was always scared of storms" he said, "even when I was a kid. The slightest hint of thunder and I'd run and hide". He laughed humorlessly. "Not that  
there's any chance to do that here…

"But you know the one thing that terrifies me above all else? How unpredictable they are. A storm can hit at any moment and we don't know how bad it will be." he sighed, a slow trembling breath that made his shoulders quiver.

Lightning cracked like a whip. Holmes saw Watson's knuckles whiten as he clenched his hands, and he realised just how close he was to losing control.

Holmes moved and sat next to Watson, his back against the wall. He stretched out his hand and calmly brushed his fingertips against the side of Watson's jaw, mimicking his gesture of the previous day. He then lightly touched his fingers against the back  
of Watson's hands. It was icy cold and unmoving. Then slowly, Watson's hand found his, and grasped it gratefully.

It felt for all the world as if Watson was a drowning man, and Holmes was the one who had saved him from the icy waters.

 

"A little gale will soon disperse that cloud

And blow it to the source from whence it came:

The very beams will dry those vapours up,

For every cloud engenders not a storm.

-(King Henry VI, Act 5, Scene 3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings,
> 
> Thats all for tonight folks (probably anyway)
> 
> I really loved writing those two last chapters. I do realise I cheated slightly by adding two quotes, but hey, I love them and they really seemed to fit with the story.
> 
> And just to let you know... I can promise a happy ending for this story (because, hey, I'm not Moffat)
> 
> Tell me what you think so far.
> 
> x lostwithoutablogger


	8. Sleep

The storm had passed a little over an hour ago.

Sherlock had held John tight the whole time. No words were needed. Every bit of warmth, support, strength, and yes, love, were conveyed in the protective embrace in which he held John. He did not need to reassure him, for his reassurance was delivered  
in the gentle pressure of his hands. He did not need to comfort him, his presence was indeed comfort enough.

Sherlock sat there, his back against the wall, John leaning against his side. He sat there awake all throughout most ofthe night. Any attempt at sleep had been pointless; he was far too awake for that. But John was soft and warm in his arms and  
he was so tired… "John, he whispered gently, relishing the sound upon his tongue. His lips softly brushed John's forehead.

For the first time in his life, sleep was quick in coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why hello there,
> 
> This is just little something that I could have added to the previous chapter, but I thought it deserved its own little chapter.
> 
> Note: I decided that this was the time when Sherlock would finally call John by his first name, and not surname (because as you may have noticed he called him "Watson" up until this point).
> 
> Anyway, I absolutely loved writing this sweet little chapter. 
> 
> As always, please comment and let me know what you think. Even if you've commented before, please update me on your POV ;)
> 
> x lostwithoutablogger


	9. Needed

"John" said a voice gently, "John.."

John looked up into the azure eyes of Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock was leaning against the wall, his perfect ebony curls mussed and wild, his eyes heavy with sleep. "Good morning sunshine" he drawled, looking down at John, who was draped, catlike, across his chest.

John was no longer confined to a cell after that night, for some reason.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Text message to Mycroft Holmes

Date: 9:04am 7th February.

Mycroft,

It has come to my attention that you have been searching for me. I realise that such desperation to find me has not arisen out of brotherly concern. Why do you need me to return to England?

-SH

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Text message to Sherlock Holmes

Date: 9:04am 7th of February

Brother mine,

Hello to you too. What an unexpected surprise. I see you're in the middle of the ocean, of all places. But then, you always did want to be a pirate.

-MH

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Text message to Mycroft Holmes

Date: 9:05am 7th of February

Myrcroft,

Enough with the pleasantries. What do you want?

-SH

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Text message to Sherlock Holmes

Date: 9:05am 7th of February

You are needed Sherlock.

-MH

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Text message to Mycroft Holmes

Date: 9:05am 7th of February

No one needs me. Who needs me?

-SH

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Text message to Sherlock Holmes

Date: 9:06am 7th of February

England.

-MH

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Sherlock Holmes was a proud and highly intelligent man, but the problem he now faced was one that could not be solved by the powers of his mind palace, and certainly not one that could be solved alone. John… He needed John.

He stood and walked briskly to the quarterdeck. John stood near the rail of the ship, his back straight, his hands clasped behind him.

Sherlock stood for a moment, appreciating the scene. He had never imagined that he would have, for any person, the depth of feeling he nowhad for John. Irene Adler had been remarkable indeed, nonetheless his feelings towards her were more akin to  
admiration than attraction. But John was different. He admired him, certainly, but it was the admiration of his character, his honesty and straightforwardness as a person, rather than his appeal as an adversary.

John was unaware of the fact that, in the two days since Sherlock and he had met, he had managed to become closer to Holmes than anyone, family included, had in a lifetime.

In an alternate universe a man with the mental acuity that Sherlock Holmes possessed, could easily become the sort of arrogant bastard who would never ask for advice, but in this one, he was not. "John," he said. "I need your help".

"What do you need?" said John, turning to face him.

Sherlock smiled slightly at that . Another man would have asked him why he needed help, John simply asked how.

"I don't know what to do" alternate universe Holmes winced at that. "I've been asked to return to London. Apparently 'England'" Sherlock said dryly, slipping back into his drawling voice, "needs me".

"And why exactly does England need a pirate with a funny hat?"

Sherlock frowned as he realised the few things he had neglected to mention to John. "ah yes… about that. I haven't always done…" he gestured to the ship around him "this" he finished. "I used to be a detective, quite a good one in fact. People would bring  
me their petty problems and I would give the answers- the police too. But one case went wrong. I got in too deep, I had no one to rely on, and I had to run," he laughed "I always wanted to be a pirate."

"And now you're wanted again?" John asked, not seeming in the least surprised at Sherlock's revelation.

"So it seems. I got a text from my brother this morning. He occupies a minor position in the government, in that he is it. It seems that England is at risk of a terrorist attack. No one knows where, they just know that one's coming.

John looked up at him. "So why do you need my advice Sherlock?" he said " Do you want me to tell you what to do? It seems pretty simple to me. You go back, you save the day and everyone wins. No drama."

"No it's not that simple!" Sherlock exclaimed, "You don't understand".

"Then help me to" John said calmly.

Sherlock sank to the ground, his head in his hands and his elbows resting on his knees. "You don't understand John" he repeated. When I left London… The reason I had to leave is because no one had my back. I got more death threats every day, and I had  
no one to turn to. I was completely alone… and it was terrifying. "

"You idiot" said John softly. "You won't be alone this time.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Sherlock looked up. "You can't. Your job, they wouldn't-"

"I've been wanting to retire for a while now" cut in John. "Open up my own practice. We could make it work." He smiled at the look on Sherlock's face, and, wanting to keep it there added, " buy a flat. This doesn't have to be goodbye Sherlock," he  
continued, as he reached down to pull the him to his feet, as Sherlock looked at him dumbstruck.

He hesitated, suddenly unsure, "But if it isn't what you want-" he was cut off suddenly, as Sherlock leaned in, and silenced him with a kiss.

John stood for a second, shocked to his core, before wrapping his arms around Sherlock.

Holmes smelt of tobacco smoke and violin rosin, his lips were salty from sea spray.

Watson smelt of wool and black tea, and his arms were tight around Holmes' waist, his face pressed against his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there,
> 
> "Whew! Long chapter this time folks (you're welcome) :)
> 
> I really didn't want to break it up with chapters and as a result there's a lot of "o-o-o-o-o" in it, so apologies for that.
> 
> So, a lot of stuff happened in this chapter. "Minor position" Mycroft appeared (heh heh) but not in person sadly (well... not yet anyway), advice was sought, and kisses given.
> 
> (note: I realise to some it might seem that John and Sherlock's whole "relationship" is slightly rushed, but I just imagined that, like in the series, their chemistry would be instantaneous)
> 
> So, as always I'd love to get some comments from you guys. Tell me what you thought of the kiss ;) and what you think of the story so far. 
> 
> X lostwithoutablogger


	10. A expensive silence..

Sherlock stood on the deck of his ship as it glided gracefully into the harbor. He had swapped his seafaring garb for a well cut dark pants and a white shirt. He had, however, retained his treasured coat.

How many of those coats did he have? John smiled, as a mental image of Sherlock standing in front of a wardrobe full of different tailored coats, danced into his head. He realized this one was different from the others he had seen though. It was deepest black apart from red threading around the buttonholes.

John knew Sherlock was nervous about his return to London, even if he did not say it. His jaw was clenched and he stood rigid on the deck, his eyes fixed on the horizon, or as much of it that could be seen among the buildings and structures that were rising from the mist.

John stepped forward to stand next to him. He put his hand in Sherlock's and squeezed it firmly once.

And that was all that was needed. Nothing had to to be said.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

A sleek black Mercedes, a silent chauffeur and a lengthy automobile ride awaited them when they disembarked. After some time, they pulled up smoothly in front of a building called the Diogenes Club.

The silence in the building was almost sacred, akin to the silence one hears, (or doesn't hear as the case may be) in a church. It was a luxurious silence, comprised of expensive brandy and leather chairs, and in the middle of it all sat Mycroft Holmes.

"Sherlock," he said, "It's been too long"

"Mycroft" said Sherlock shortly, inclining his head.

"Come now brother mine, is that any way to treat your sibling?"

"Were you expecting a hug?"

"Oh god no, a punch to the nose would have been far more your style. And this must be the famous Doctor Watson. I've heard so much about you". He said, changing subject abruptly and stretching out his hand to shake John's.

John looked at the man properly for the first time. He could see the resemblance to Sherlock, but only barely. It was, however, his eyes that captured John's attention. They were a similar cerulean shade to Sherlock's, but it was there that the similarities stopped. While Sherlock's eyes were cool and hard, they still held warmth in their depths. Mycroft's eyes looked as though they were steel blue chips of ice. He scoured John's face with a gaze so calculating it was almost tangible. "Please sit" he said finally.

Their discussion lasted well over an hour. John sat silent throughout most of it, simply listening to the brother's talk. Mycroft had been informed by numerous infallible sources of the coming attack. None of them however, had been able to tell him where it was directed, and by whom. This was where Sherlock came in.

"You have a homeless network" said Mycroft, "use it. Ms. Hooper is still at Barts and I'm sure she would be more than happy to assist you in any way she can."

He paused. "You've been away far too long Sherlock. London has changed. You will need some time to… relearn it. In the interest of speed I took the liberty of securing a flat in Baker Street. I think, given your new…" his eyes flickered to John, "arrangement, you might want to look at it together. It's a lovely place. I think the two of you might be able to afford it. Now," he said, rising from his chair. "I expect you both have things to do. Don't let me detain you".

John and Sherlock stood and with a nod John walked smartly out the door. Mycroft waited until he was out of earshot, then laid a hand on Sherlock's arm. "Caring is not an advantage, little brother. Mind you don't get caught up. And Sherlock?" he said as Sherlock pulled away from him and stalked to the door.

"Yes?"

"I approve"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter to go folks. Will you miss me? ;-) 
> 
> xlostwithoutablogger


	11. Oh Captain, My Captain.

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,

The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won,

The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,

While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;

-Walt Whitman, 1891

 

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

A police squad car stood waiting for them out the front. A grey haired man in dark glasses was leaning nonchalantly against it.

"Sherlock Holmes," he said. "What an expected pleasure this is."

"Hello Gavin" said Sherlock.  
"Greg" sighed the man, with the long-suffering air of someone who has been correcting that mistake for some time. "it's Greg, Sherlock".

"Well, Greg, how did you know I was back in England?"

"Well you know how it is. I deduced that with the current situation it wouldn't be long before you turned up."

"Nice try." Sherlock said, "How did you really know?"

"Anderson" Greg admitted.

"Good god, that man couldn't keep a secret if his life depended on it could he?" said Sherlock irritably.

"Well, aren't you going to introduce me to your… friend?" Greg said, looking at John for the first time.  
"This is my… partner, Dr. John Watson" said Sherlock, leaving Greg to decipher the double entendre. "John, this is Inspector Greg Lestrade of Scotland Yard".

John smiled as he shook hands with Lestrade, noting the look of slight confusion on his face. Feeling a spark of pity for the poor man, he decided to answer his unspoken question by stepping slightly closer to Sherlock, who unconsciously did the same. He saw Lestrade's eyes widen. Message received.

"Close your mouth Gavin, it's unbecoming" said Sherlock. But he was smiling as he said it

 

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

 

Lestrade dropped them off at Baker Street with a promise to return the next day, with any information he had on the situation.

"221B Baker St" said Sherlock in answer to John's question. "it should be just about… here". They came to a halt in front of a black door with a gold doorknocker. Sherlock knocked three times and a short while later, the door was opened by an elderly lady with short curled hair the colour of toffee. She struck John immediately as a mothering type, but not the sort of lady to be trifled with.  
"Yes dears?" she said, "What can I do for you?"

"We've come about the flat" said John

"Oh yes, come along in. I'm Mrs. Hudson dears, the landlady."

She showed them up a winding flight of stairs, and pushed open a door on the first landing. "This is it dears" she said. "it's a bit dusty, I haven't had time to clean you know, but it's got a kitchen, and two bedrooms, if you'll be needing two. (A Study in Pink, S1, E1).

John smiled as Sherlock flashed him a wink on his way into the kitchen. "It would not do for rumors to spread," he said softly in John's ear as he brushed past him. John coughed, "Well yes, of course we will be needing two bedrooms!" he spluttered unconvincingly.

"Well alright" said Mrs. Hudson, "I'll go ahead and set them both up" and she walked briskly out of the room. She returned a moment later. "You are taking the flat aren't you?" she said.

"Yes" said Sherlock at the same time as John. She went out again.

John looked around. The flat was large and airy, with crimson carpets and two great armchairs in front of a vast fireplace.

"So" said John at last, "will we be needing two bedrooms Captain Holmes?"

Sherlock answered him by leaning forward and kissing him softly on the lips.

"We'll just have to see won't we?" he said quietly. 

John reached up and returned the kiss, wrapping his arms around Sherlock tightly, as though he would never let him loose. "Well alright then" he murmured, "Oh Captain, my Captain".

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my dear readers,
> 
> Well that's that! "Oh Captain, My Captain" is officially finished! A lot happened in these last few chapters, I hope it all wasn't too fast. I'm so happy Lestrade, his sarcasm, and Mrs. Hudson got to make a cameo. After all, it isn't a Sherlock story if she isn't in it!
> 
> I simply loved writing this story. I loved being able to be clever with the storyline, the setting allowed me to have so much fun with the characters and to take some liberties with the story.
> 
> Even though this story is finished, I'd still love to know what you guys think of it, so please review! 
> 
> I just saw that over 400 people have viewed my story in the few short days since I put it up, and I can't possibly tell you how much this means to me. I mentioned at the start of this fic that this was my first ever fan fiction, so the fact that this many people have even just glanced at my story is pretty incredible.
> 
> o-o-o- SO THE BIG NEWS! o-o-o 
> 
> Thanks to a well timed comment from DarkFoxKirin there will be an alternate ending to this story. I'm just about finished writing it, so I won't give any major spoilers, but let me simply say that a shipwreck is involved. I'll put it up as soon as it's written- please give it a read and let me know what you think! 
> 
> Thanks so much for your support and comments. They are always a surprise and always welcome. 
> 
> xlostwithoutablogger


	12. Alternate Ending- PART 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is an alternate ending to "Oh Captain, My Captain". This chapter would fit in after chapter 8.

The sound of crunching timber and curses jolted them from their shared sleep. Moving quickly, Holmes stood and flung open the cabin door, John following close behind. 

They were met with a scene of utter pandemonium. The decks were flooded with water, and where it wasn't actually split in fragments, jagged cracks ran horizontally across the polished board. 

Holmes stared at the wreck his ship had become and with murder in his eyes looked for the cause. And then he saw it. The only lifeboat aboard the ship was filled with his crew, and they were preparing to leave. 

"Sorry Cap" Anderson called. "You know what they say. A Captain has gotta be last off a sinking ship".  
Holmes drew his sword and moved forward. "Just what do you think you're doing Anderson?"  
"I believe it's called mutiny in these waters" Anderson replied with an amused smile. "Holmes, you must have known when you set out with pirates that sooner or later you'd be double crossed. Come, you know as well as I do that this boat won't fit us all. And, bearing that in mind..." Anderson gave a mocking now, and stepped into the lifeboat, cutting the cords that held it with a swift motion. The boat fell with a splash into the water, and the swirling wind soon carried it swiftly away.

Watson watched in horror as their only chance of survival was rowed away towards the lightening sky.  
"Well what the hell are we going to do now Holmes?" he said with a panicked edge to his words.  
"My ship!" said Holmes looking around forlornly. "Do you have any idea how long this took to find? The hours of searching and craftsmanship, ruined in one fell swoop of Anderson's idiocy."  
"What the f--?" said John. "We're about to drown and all you can think about is your precious ship."  
Holmes looked at him. "We're not going to drown" he said, as if Watson was a child. "By my calculations we have exactly 2 minutes and 30 seconds until the ship is completely submerged. Plenty of time for you to devise a raft."  
"For me to to devise.. Hang on where are you going?"  
"To get my other coat" said Holmes.

John quelled down the urge to punch the man on his perfect cheekbone. "Bloody hell" he muttered. 

By the time Holmes had returned, with two coats and a smug smile, the ship was beginning to creak ominously and while John's rushed attempt at a raft was laughable under normal circumstances, considering the time constraint he had done a fair job. 

Two hours later they were still at sea. Icy waters lapped over the sides of the raft with even the most gentle of waves. If a fist fight on a raft had not been impractical and downright dangerous, let us just say that someone would have had a black eye at the very least. Holmes was not an easy man to be confined with. 

The one saving grace was that the moon was out and that was the only reason they saw the island at all. 

"Care to join me for a swim Captain?" drawled Holmes.  
John rolled his eyes. "Lead on Macduff" he quoted.  
"Ah Macbeth" said Holmes appreciatively as they swam "how appropriate". "I must become a borrower of the night, for a dark hour or twain" he said after a moment. "That was always my favourite line". 

The swam in silence after that, Holmes deep in contemplation and John just trying not to think about sharks. 

John's feeling of relief upon hitting sand was immense, and he was even happier once he was standing with both feet on, perhaps not dry, but land at least. 

Holmes staggered up the beach behind him, coatless, both rescued coats claimed by the swirling waters. The moonlight shone on his face and it wasn't until he turned to face him, that John saw the blood around his hairline.  
"Holmes, what happened?"  
"What?" the man said distractedly  
"You've got blood-"  
"I'm fine, I'm fine" Holmes said impatiently.  
"No, actually, I don't think you are. Christ, Sherlock, sit down." John grabbed the man by the arm, either too concerned or too tired to register his use of the man's first name. He guided Sherlock to a seating position, and gently tilted his face towards the moon to try and ascertain the origin of the blood. A thin cut on his hairline seemed to be the cause, nothing life threatening, but certainly deep and rather nasty. John sighed and pulled off his shirt and began to rip it up to make bandages.  
"What?" He said to Sherlock, as the man mumbled something under his breath.  
"We should be careful," Sherlock said in a low voice, "you ripping your clothes off on a deserted island. People might talk." 

John looked at him and laughed, a deep and full laugh that seemed to shake all the tension out of his body. Sherlock looked up at him with a slight smile and began to laugh softly. They sat there, on the beach in the moonlight, two men laughing with close to hysterical relief at their survival.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well hello there. If you've managed to have the patience to wait this long for the alternate ending I applaud you. Hiking and a freakishly late snowfall during said hiking, as well as school has kept me ridiculously busy. Hopefully part 2 will not be as long in coming. 
> 
> Anyway, please tell me what you think of the alternate ending (part 1) and if you have anything/anyone you'd like to see in part 2. 
> 
> Good to be back! 
> 
> xlostwithoutablogger
> 
> P.S I am aware that the "lead on Macduff" line is actually misquoted (the original quote is actually "lay on Macduff"), but this just seemed more appropriate in the circumstances. :)


End file.
